Hell Is
by Keeanga
Summary: Damiens dark musings. Connections with Harbucks stories: Iris and My Angel of Death, check em out


_Idk, I was bored and this I just decided to write. A short little one chpt story about Damien Thorne. If you wish to knwo exactly what he is speaking of go to Harbucks and read Iris along with My Angel of Death, it'll make much mroe sense then^^_

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Up....Down....Up....Down....Breath....Up....Down....Up....Drown....Breath....Lifting myself up and down on the bar attemtping my 666 chin-up of the day. The muscles of my arms and back rippling with the movements, sweat dampening my forehead. But I still breathed in and out slowly and easing my mind with a poem. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breath in, go up, breath out, go down. Over and over, all the while remembering this poem.

_'Hell is a thing like doubt.'  
'Hell is a thing like jealousy. '  
'Hell is an animal like a panther.'  
'Hell is an animal like a tiger.'  
'Hell is a man like the poorest beggar.'  
'Hell is a man like the fiercest brute.'  
'Hell is a road paved with good intentions.'  
'Hell is a road that compels us to think of perfection.'_

A poem by Sri Chinmoy, a poem I remember so well, for it had been told to me over and over to me by my father. To me it makes sense and it describes who I am, in ways I don't even understand. Reasons I don't understand because I'm one to contemplate and yet I cannot find one single meaning to a word. It's infuriating and curious at the same time. What am I? Who am I?

I am Damien Thorn, heir to the throne of Hell. My father Satan, well he's gay but yet I love him all the same. I do not admit it at times but deep in my heart I do. If there is still a heart to be beating there. As I lowered myself from the bar, I let my barefeet come to rest on the cold stone floor of the 7th layer of Hell. I adjusted my low slung black jeans and wiped my forehead on my arm. I breathed heavily, I'd been at this for hours, needing to burn off so much....so much stress....so much guilt....

Walking to my bedroom, I flopped on my satin covered bed on my back, exhaling deeply. My jet black hair lingered around my red eyes. I lifted a hand up to gaze at the pale, almost grey skinned hand. What exactly was I? A devil, a man....a traitor, a deceiver, a murderer....

I shook my head and reached over, grabbing up the remote for my stereo and turning it on, listening to the music blast forth from the speakers. I closed my eyes, crossing my tattooed arms behind my head. My crucifix resting against my bare chest, the weight always there....I tried to listen to the music but instead the poem came back.

_'Hell is a thing like doubt.'_

I doubted myself, my strength and my courage. I doubted my heart at times, I did not know if I was straight or gay. So much doubt in one life. I doubted my own abilities, my own limits, my ability to protect my father from anything or anyone that threatened him. I doubted how I could protect the human woman with the wounded heart who I felt myself falling for....hard. Had I not learned my lesson the first time I had loved?

_'Hell is a thing like jealousy. '_

I was jealous of Stan Marsh who was so lucky to have that woman around him. To have the time to laugh and talk with her, to hug her like a friend or....a lover....Jealous that he got to see those green eyes everyday, full of so much welcome. For me those eyes only held mistrust and anger. I was jealous that my father could be so carefree all the time, even when someone was trying to kill him....again. Jealous he could feel love and still come out uninjured. People said I had no heart.

_'Hell is an animal like a panther.'  
'Hell is an animal like a tiger.'_

People say I behave like a cat....dark, silent, fast and moving with feline grace and secrecy. It was the only way I could approach the woman I was interested in, without her screaming at me to leave her the fuck alone. I didn't blame her. I behaved like an animal, running after my prey, loving the thrill of the chase. I loved to loung in the heat like a cat, just stretch out and close my eyes. If only I had my tigeress to lay beside me....

_'Hell is a man like the poorest beggar.'_

Hell I was one sad bastard. I was losing my sense of time, place and who I was. I was always begging for a second chance. Whether with the boy I had loved or the woman I was falling in love with....I fucked up everytime I tried to talk to her, said something stupid or arrogant, tripping over my tongue like some fool. Begging her to give me a chance, a chance to show her the man I could be. I had fucked up once with Pip, he was dead now, lieing in a grave, watching me from heaven and not lieing here with me now....all because I hadn't been strong enough....

_'Hell is a man like the fiercest brute.'_

I had been such an asshole those final few days with Pip. I forced him to feel new things, I hadn't been gentle....sometimes I had been because he made me feel so much love, so much compassion. But now I had hardened into nothing but a brute, using blunt force to get what I wanted, it was always about what I had wanted up until now....with everything back in order except me. My insides were all messed up, my heart was aching felt like it was breaking. Maybe there was something in there afterall....

_'Hell is a road paved with good intentions.'_

I had so many intentions towards that woman with the chocolate brown hair, with the past full of monsters. I wanted to be the one to chase them away in the night after she had a nightmare. To hold her when the world was too much. To kiss those lips, turn them into a bright smile of love instead of a scowl of hate....I wished to see those green eyes brighten at the sight of me, to feel her pulse beneath my lips. To re-do all the things I had done wrong with Pip. To have a fresh start, a second chance. At love....At family....At....Life.

And as my eyes opened they just started to slide back down as exhaustion tried to suck me under. Sleep would be peaceful, sleep would bring back Pip. Sleep would help me see that woman again, in my own light, in my own private world. As I started to fall asleep the last line of the poem rung through my head like great bells....

_'Hell is a road that compels us to think of perfection.'_

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_(c)go 2 creators of Southpark for characters n such  
DO NOT think abdly of this, I think ti turne dout alright for a one timer._


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